


Age of Miracles

by lethargicProfessor



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Father Todd, Flashpoint (DCU), Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Maladictive on tumblr based off a post I lost</p>
<p>An AU where Father Todd takes in an injured and bleeding, broken Batman or Nightwing.<br/>OR an AU where Father Todd takes in reverse age Robins with Cass as his partner:))<br/>Just father todd. Father Todd just feels like coming home (in my head), because he’d curse and smoke and beat people up for big and small things, and maybe he was in the army so he’s not okay, but<br/>He’d try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maladictive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maladictive/gifts).



Flashpoint – /noun/. A critical point or stage at which something or someone suddenly causes or creates some significant action.

 

 

Failed missions happened often. Dick had been a vigilante long enough that he was able to admit that easily.

“ _As long as you get to live another day to fight_ ,” he told Jason once, when they were young and stupid. They both believed it, had believed it, until Jason died. After that, it was hard to believe much of anything.

Still, he felt a wave of relief wash over him as his body settled into the cot slowly. He couldn’t quite remember how he arrived back to the Batcave, or what had even happened with the mission, but the pain in his body and the throbbing in his head were evidence enough that he probably hadn’t done too well.

Though the cot was thin and pushed roughly against the more battered parts of his body, he felt comfortable. Vaguely, he could hear movement around him, and the faint strains of a piano, but the very thought of opening his eyes was draining.

He contented himself with just listening to the sounds around him, sinking deeper into the cot as footsteps quietly walked to his side.

A cool washcloth brushed against his face, wiping away the grime and blood, but he couldn’t be bothered to squirm. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and he trusted Alfred to go easy on him if he fell asleep in the cave again.

Hands carefully pried his domino mask off, lightly wiping away the sticky residue used to keep it on. He flinched involuntarily when the hand strayed too close to his cheek, wincing more as the muscles in his face contracted. The skin felt stiff, the muscles pulling in what was surely going to be one hell of a shiner come daytime.

“’m sorry,” he tried to say, groaning softly. His throat was raw, phantom fingers squeezing his windpipe as he struggled to remember the events of the night. The movement beside him stopped, frozen for a moment too long, before returning the washcloth to his forehead.

“Shh.”

While Alfred was never exceedingly talkative with them after a rough night, he was never this quiet. The pounding in his head intensified, causing another groan to slip from his lips. Something was wrong, had gone wrong, but he couldn’t remember anything after he left the Cave on a mission.

Tension seeped into his shoulders as he strained to listen around him. The Cave, for all its damp and cold, had a distinctive echo that felt like home. Even the chattering of the bats high above them was familiar, a comfort during recovery.

All he could hear now was the rustling of clothing and the strains of a soft hymn filtering from somewhere above. No Cave. No bats.

No Alfred.

Panic shot through him, but he forced it down, listening closely for any clues to his whereabouts. If he had been captured by the enemy, he was already a dead man – he’d been unmasked, been stupid and reckless and if the bad guys didn’t kill him, then Bruce sure as hell would.

Squeaky hinges set his nerves on edge as a door opened to his right. A soft, young voice mixed with the sound of music – the hymn, louder this time, slow as a lullaby. “Do you need anything…?”

“Not right now, thanks. Get back upstairs, alright? I’ll be there soon.” A man responded, close enough to Dick’s ear to nearly make him jump out of his skin. The door squeaked again as it shut, muffling the sounds from above.

Sighing, the man moved away, humming along with the strains of the hymn. After a few counts, he began singing, whispering the words softly to himself. “ _P[eace will pervade more than forest and field… God will transfigure the violence concealed..](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wckb5jFqvgw)_.”

Slowly, Dick clenched his fists, shifting in the cot slowly. Pain shot up his calf as he moved, but he couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Taking in a deep breath, he rolled out of the cot, lunging toward the man before he could register the change in his patient.

Dick shoved the man into the nearest wall chest first, grunting as the pounding in his head got worse. Spots danced in his eyes, but he braced himself against the other man, twisting his arm behind his back.

“Where am I?” He growled in his best Batman voice, wincing at the strain on his vocal cords.

The man under him squirmed, face squished against the wall. Still, he sounded more annoyed than scared when he responded, wiggling in an effort to get Dick off. “Gotham Cathedral. _Christ_ , you try to do somethin’ good and this is the thanks you get…”

“Who are you?” Something about his voice, his cadence picked at Dick’s mind – everything about this situation seemed _off_ – but the pounding in his head was making it hard to focus on anything. His vision blurred, and he stumbled back, collapsing as his leg buckled beneath him.

The other man swore softly, quickly making the sign of the cross before bending down to pick Dick up unceremoniously. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to patch you up? God give me patience.”

“You didn’t answer my question…” Dick squinted up at the man, groaning as his hands dug into a tender spot under Dick’s ribs.

“Shut up, sleep, and I’ll answer your questions later.” The man huffed, arms shaking as he slowly deposited Dick on the cot again. “And don’t even think about leaving. You’re a disaster. You’re lucky you’re not dead, though it sure ain’t from lack of trying.”

He turned on his side to argue, but the movement drove a shock of pain down his spine. The black spots in his eyes grew, light fading away as he sunk into unconsciousness.

* * *

“…thought I hit my high point with the little witch girl, but I guess it’s never that easy, huh?”

The man’s voice sounded watery and distant as Dick slowly came to, struggling to breathe against the aching in his chest. His body hurt more than before, limbs stiff from being in one position too long. He tried sitting up, wheezing softly.

“I’ll call you back later, alright? He just woke up.” The man walked over, shadowed in the faint light of a single lamp, setting a cordless phone at the base of Dick’s cot. “How are you feeling….?”

Dick grunted in response, scrubbing his eyes roughly. “Where am I?”

“I told you,” the man sighed, walking to the door. “Gotham Cathedral. I’m gonna turn the lights on, alright?”

Bright fluorescent lights flooded the room, blinding Dick momentarily. The man walked back to his bedside, the corners of his mouth twitching. Still, despite the obvious humor in his eyes, he sighed, raking a hand through a white patch of hair on his forehead.

Dumbfounded, Dick could only stare. “Jason…?”

“First name basis already?” He asked, grinning, sharp and teasing, more Robin than Dick had seen in years. “Sure. Though most people call me Father Todd. Who’re you?”

“What do you mean? It’s me. It’s Dick.”

Jason smothered a snort, plastering a sweet smile on his face. “Your name is…what?”

“Dick.” Annoyed, Dick tried to sit up, only to have Jason – dressed in a cassock of all things – push him down lightly. “Richard Grayson.”

“Well, Mr. Grayson, it’s nice to meet you.” His smile softened as he sat beside Dick. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Dick frowned, head throbbing at the brief flashes of memory, of fists and pain and _light_ , before shaking his head. “I have no idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So you’re a mask?”

Dick raised an eyebrow as Jason sat next to him with a first aid kit. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jason began, ripping away a band aid on his arm, smiling thinly at Dick’s startled yelp. “I _mean_ , are you one of those crazy vigilantes that everyone’s always talking about.”

“I don’t know about crazy,” Dick said, watching as Jason carefully pulled away the bandages on his arms. He snorted, tuft of white flopping onto his face with the motion.

“You have to be a little crazy to do the stuff masks do.”  Jason wadded up the bandages carefully, tossing them into a small trash can in the corner of the room. “You know, I can’t say I’m surprised. Ever since the Batman bit it, everyone’s kind of been…waiting…expecting someone else to take over.”

Dick jerked up, knocking over the first aid kit and nearly head-butting Jason in the process. The younger man huffed, masking his surprise with an annoyed growl. “What? Jesus, don’t _do_ that.”

“Batman’s dead?” Dick stared, wondering if maybe Bruce’s death could have driven Jason to a church of all things. Except it didn’t explain how he didn’t know Dick, or Nightwing. And he couldn’t possibly have been unconscious long enough for Bruce’s death to be casual news.

Jason raised an eyebrow, slowly pushing him back down on the bed. “Where have you been? He’s been dead for months. Ever since the world almost ended.”

“What?” The room swam, and Dick absently wondered if it was partly because of the new revelations, or because he’d torn a stitch or two.

Jason heaved a heavy sigh, pulling out more bandages from his kit. “Where have _you_ been? It’s old news. Everyone’s trying to recover now. It’s kinda sad, though. Dr. Wayne did a lot of good for Gotham in his own way, I guess.”

Bruce was never a doctor. Unless…

“Are you talking about Thomas Wayne?” The pieces, as fractured as they were, slowly slotted into place. This wasn’t _his_ home or his Jason or his Bruce.

Jason raised an eyebrow, nodding. “Who else would I be talking about?”

 

* * *

 

“Do I have something on my face?” His tone was half joking, but the edge in his shoulders was familiar enough to Dick to know that he was getting annoyed.

Dick shook his head, staring down at his bowl of cereal, chasing a soggy flake around the bowl halfheartedly. “No. Nothing. Sorry.”

“You keep staring at me.” The chair across from Dick’s scraped as Jason sat, leaning forward until Dick looked up. Jason’s brow furrowed, and he licked his lips absently. “Look…I’m flattered, alright? You’re an attractive guy, and I can admit that to myself. But…”

He waved his hand around the room, encompassing the entirety of the church. “I’m celibate. It’s part of the vows I had to take to join the church and all.”

Stunned, Dick dropped his spoon, splattering the table with milk. Jason looked like he was trying not to laugh, covering his mouth to hide his smile.

“I… _no_.” Dick cleared his throat, mulling his words over carefully. “I…don’t see you like that, Jay. That’s not why I’m staring.”

“Oh.” Jason leaned back in his seat, visibly relaxing. “Okay, good. I’m really bad at letting people down.”

Rolling his eyes, Dick cleaned up the mess he made. “I’m….staring because you look like my little brother. It’s… _scary_ how much you look like him. Even down to the white patch.”

“Yeah?” He sounded curious but not overly prying. “Handsome guy then, that’s good to know.”

“You two would either get along amazingly, or try to kill each other.” Dick snorted, wondering how Jason would react to the knowledge that in another universe, he was a priest. He’d get a kick out of that.

Father Jason laughed, punching Dick’s arm lightly as he passed. “Who do you think would win?”

The crime lord/killer or the reformed delinquent priest? “That’s a good question.”

 

* * *

 

 

 “And then someone killed Wonder Woman’s mom, so that started the war with the Atlantians.” Colin Wilkes explained, drawing a big ‘X’ across what he claimed was Hippolita’s face. The diagram he had drawn for Dick was scribbled across in various colors and marks, each displaying a different facet of the war.

Dick followed a few of the lines connecting Diana to a cluster that looked vaguely familiar. “Hey, is that Huntress?”

“Yeah! Huntress and Hawk Girl and Starfire.” Colin nodded eagerly, grabbing a blue pen to circle the group. “They’re the Furies, Wonder Woman’s top warriors.”

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Dick asked, noting the rest of the faces he knew. Cyborg, Captain Marvel (“He’s Captain _Thunder_ , dummy.”), Lois Lane. All of those people, friends of his, sinking half a continent over a dispute. It made his stomach clench.

Colin shrugged, looking through his pens for a different color. “A lot of it came out on the internet after the explosion. Like, files and stuff about them and what happened. And Lois Lane had been reporting for a while, so all her information was pulled together too.”

He carefully scratched out Lois’ name on the chart with a bright red ‘X’.

Dick stifled a shudder.

 

* * *

 

 

He caught Jason smoking one evening, sitting on a lonely bench conveniently hidden by a yew tree.

“What do they say about old habits?” He asked, smiling bitterly as he crushed the cigarette under his heel. Dick sat beside him slowly, still stiff as his injuries healed. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the clouds pass over the moon.

“Do you regret it?” Jason glanced over, eyebrow raised. Dick sighed, struggling to elaborate. “Do you regret doing the things you did before? When you were younger?”

“That’s a good question,” the priest replied. “I guess it depends on what you mean by regret.”

“What does that mean?” Dick wasn’t sure if Jason being philosophical was strictly a priest thing, or if he had been like that before as well and he just hadn’t noticed.

Jason shrugged. “I did a lot of bad stuff as a kid. I feel bad about doing them, and I know morally and spiritually and whatever that they were wrong, but I don’t regret doing them, exactly.”

A fire engine screamed past on the street, drowning out the rest of Jason’s explanation. Annoyed, he began again. “If I hadn’t done those things, I wouldn’t have ended up here. And this?” He waved at the church and the orphanage, then moved his hand vaguely toward the rest of Gotham. “I wouldn’t trade this for the world. This is where I’m supposed to be. It’s…I dunno. Call it a calling. A sense of belonging. And if it’s God that put me here, or the universe or whatever, I’m glad. I can do some good here.”

Dick thought back to his own Jason, the Red Hood, and wondered idly if he felt the same way. “Do you ever wonder what you would be doing if you weren’t a priest?”

“Sure.” Jason leaned back, closing his eyes. “Lots of times I wonder. What if I hadn’t stumbled into the church the night I came back? If someone else had found me? Or hell, if I’d been left to fend on my own. I like to think that I’d still manage to do something good, maybe. Maybe not.”

They lapsed into silence, the sounds of Crime Alley filtering around them, until Jason stood. “I need to go check on the kids before lights out.  You need help getting inside?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks, Father.” Dick smiled at the surprised look on Jason’s face, chuckling as he beamed.

“See you tomorrow, Richard. Good night.” He waved, walking back into the church, leaving Dick alone with his thoughts.


End file.
